


What You Deserve

by BirdMonster



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Health Issues, Pre-Time Skip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:19:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26962783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BirdMonster/pseuds/BirdMonster
Summary: Cyril would spend all day and night cleaning and making sure everything was spotless. Wearing himself down to the bone, skipping meals and sleep, all for the fear of what would happen if he didn’t. And all for the hope of some acknowledgement that never came.the effects of neglect.
Relationships: Cyril & Claude von Riegan
Comments: 12
Kudos: 29
Collections: Cyril Week 2020





	What You Deserve

**Author's Note:**

> my final submission for cyril week on twitter!! i went with the prompt 'found family'

It was cold outside, so Cyril was already in a bad mood. The biting temperature made his fingers rigid which made it hard to work. Usually, he would do his best to stay inside on days like this, but some jobs just couldn’t be avoided. Trash collection was one of them— the students had no regard for where they threw their garbage, it seemed. And neglecting to scour the grounds for every piece of discarded junk for even just one day was recipe for disaster the next. It would pile up, get caught in the fishing pond, stuck behind crates. Maybe the stray animals would get into it and fall ill. In short, Cyril couldn’t have that. So despite his shivering and stiffness, he took to the outside.

He always started around the pond. Mostly because of how important it was to keep that area clean, but also because it meant he could stop by the greenhouse when he was done. It was comfortable there. He even had a patch of flowers he took care of himself— really the only thing he had any control over. Just seeing the building standing there in the distance was enough to make him feel calmer. Maybe even a little warmer. This wasn’t so bad. All he had to do was pick up a few more pieces of paper and he could go inside, free from the chilly breeze.

Some loose pages from what Cyril could only assume was an angrily tossed essay were tucked behind a stack of barrels. It would be a pain, but he figured he was small enough to reach and grab them without having to move anything. He knelt down, prepared to do just that, when a creaking caught his attention. His gaze snapped upwards and his eyes widened— the topmost barrel beside him was tipping his way. And fast, too. There wasn’t enough time to escape, only to throw his arms up over his head in a hasty act of defense. The barrel toppled, nicked his shoulder, and clattered to the ground beside him with just enough force that it burst.

The stink of alcohol overwhelmed his senses. It was all over him and he coughed, the smell stinging his throat. And then there was a chorus of laughter behind him.

Ah.

He wondered for a moment just how long the students had been following him. Or maybe they just happened across him a second before, deciding to antagonise on a whim. Either way, he felt a bit scared now. Most of the time students would leave him alone after a simple prank, but he could never be sure if he was truly in danger or not. He felt around for a dry part of his shirt, desperate to wipe his eyes before opening them.

“Just _what_ is going on here?” a stern voice arose from the same direction of the laughter, which had abruptly stopped with a series of surprised gasps.

“Oh— we were just, uh—”

“Making sure he was okay!”

Two excuses were thrown into the air. The stern voice spoke again. “Like hell you were. What could possibly make you think behavior like this is okay? Do you know where you are?” That voice was familiar, Cyril realized. And surprising, too, because he had never heard it so angry before.

After finally finding a dry patch of cloth to wipe his eyes, Cyril turned around. Standing there were three students he didn’t recognize and one he did— Claude’s eyes burned with vitriol Cyril didn’t think possible for someone who seemed so carefree. The other students must have been thinking the same thing because they looked absolutely horrified, as though they had been caught doing something much worse than picking on some kid.

“Well— we—”

“Just _go_!”

The other students took off running.

“Hey—!” Claude called after them, looking for a moment like he was going to give chase, but he just clicked his tongue instead. His gaze turned to Cyril, then, and Cyril flinched, feeling terribly small under the other’s harsh gaze. But the harshness fell upon the sight of him, turning to a softness by the likes of which Cyril hadn’t seen before. It was almost as surprising as the anger from earlier. Perhaps even more so— he wasn’t quite sure _anyone_ had looked at him like that before. Certainly not a leader of the Golden Deer class.

“So be it, then— they can have their last moments of freedom. I already committed their faces to memory. Here,” Claude closed the distance between them and Cyril shrunk down even more. The reaction was subconscious. He wasn’t really scared of Claude. No more scared than he was of anyone else, at least. But his fear was usually better hidden. He felt so vulnerable now— drenched and shaking from the cold.

As Claude loomed over him, Cyril clenched his eyes shut. But he felt nothing more than a sensation of warmth drape over his shoulders. It was comforting enough for him to reopen his eyes and see that Claude wrapped him in the cape usually thrown over his own shoulder. He was smiling down at him, brows arched downwards in an apologetic look. “You okay there, kiddo?” All the anger was gone from his voice, replaced with a careful softness.

“Um…” Cyril wasn’t sure how to react. “Yeah.”

Claude straightened up, offering a hand out to him. When Cyril took it, he was lifted to his feet. “Let’s get you inside,” Claude said. “And cleaned up. I have some clothes you can change into. Ah— they’ll be pretty big on you, though…”

“Yeah…” Cyril still didn’t know what to say. This was odd— usually, people just left him alone. Alois or Shamir would scare off any kids who meant him harm, but not much beyond that. Other than Alois going on and on about how it was his duty to protect the children of the monastery or whatever it was he talked about. Cyril usually phased out his monologues.

“Pretty chilly out here, isn’t it? I bet you’re not used to the cold,” Claude spoke up as he began to walk, glancing back to make sure Cyril was following. So he did, careful to keep pace.

“I’m gettin’ used to it,” he responded.

“Sure. And that’s why you’re shivering so much.”

Cyril huffed at that. Did he really look so pathetic? “Well, I can’t really help that I’m drenched.”

“No, you can’t.” Claude frowned. “Care to huddle for warmth?”

“I’ll get your clothes wet. We’re almost inside, anyway.”

“So what? I have plenty more where these came from.” Claude reached out and wrapped an arm around Cyril’s shoulders. That action was the most surprising thing of all— it almost stopped him in his tracks. No matter how many long-winded rants about chivalry Alois went on, he never came close to hugging Cyril. Neither did Shamir. Then again, she was far from the affectionate type.

He figured he was, as well. That he didn’t need such a thing. But the one simple gesture from Claude was enough to make him feel as though something within him was collapsing— a wall he’d been trying so hard to keep up for as long as he could remember. One that became more and more frail with every passing day at the monastery.

A feeling deep inside him that rose up when he looked at the other children. Most of them squires, some refugees— all of them embraced or patted on the head when they did a good job. Something as easy as swinging a sword in the right direction. While Cyril himself would spend all day and night cleaning and making sure everything was spotless. Wearing himself down to the bone, skipping meals and sleep, all for the fear of what would happen if he didn’t. And all for the hope of some acknowledgement that never came.

He felt selfish having these thoughts. Selfish for feeling resentment when students would hold hands as they walked or parents would pick up their children when they were weary. He wanted that. He knew he didn’t deserve it, but he wanted it. Someone to hold him every now and then. It wasn’t something he experienced before, so how could he want it so badly? Maybe there was a vague memory of his parents before they died— holding him close as he drifted to sleep at night. But that was all.

He didn’t need it.

Yet now, as he walked with Claude’s arm around his shoulders, he couldn’t help but let those thoughts surface. They bubbled over with feelings of loneliness. An emotion that kept him up in his rare moments of rest— that ran from his eyes and pooled in his palms when he was sure no one could hear him. It hurt. It made his chest clench in pain at the most inconvenient times. When he was tasked with bringing something to Seteth’s office and he found not only the advisor there but Flayn as well, and the two of them laughed together. When he went to tell the professor something Lady Rhea wanted to pass along and saw them at their desk, surrounded by students eager to speak with them.

When Lady Rhea would smile at the professors, at the students, at the knights, then turn to him and look on with nothing more than a hollow countenance.

Why was this all coming up now? As though Claude standing beside him was enough to break down this wall and cause a terrible flood. They were headed for the dorms and were almost to the stairs, just passing the greenhouse. He only had to hold it together for a little longer before the cold was no longer a factor. Maybe once he felt warmth, he would be all right.

But his eyes still stung. And it wasn’t from the alcohol. His body shook more. And it wasn’t from the cold.

Before he knew it, Claude stopped and his arm dropped, moving so he could grip onto Cyril’s shoulder instead. “Cyril,” he said, voice dripping with concern. “Are you hurt? It looked like the barrel got you back there—”

“No—!” Cyril’s voice was shrill. He felt heavy from just the one word. If he spoke more, he would fall apart for sure, so he just shook his head.

“Ah.” Claude pulled his hand away, shifting to rub the back of his own neck. “Sorry, kiddo. I shouldn’t have pulled you in like that. Just didn’t want you to be too cold, but next time I’ll—”

“That-that’s not…!” His voice cracked and tears began to flow. How embarrassing. He should just run away, probably. It wasn’t like he was incapable of taking care of himself. Seteth would give him spare clothes if he asked. But there was a petty part of his mind that made him linger a moment longer. A part that wished—

“Can I hug you?” Claude’s voice split through his thoughts. Cyril looked up at him. Claude looked back, smiling as usual, a knowing glint in his eye.

“Huh…?”

“You look like you could use one. Just wanted to make sure you’re okay with it this time.”

Cyril wasn’t quite sure what possessed him in that moment, but he didn’t answer Claude. Not verbally, at least. He just let himself fall forward until his forehead hit the other’s shoulder. Claude’s arms wrapped around him, and that was all he could take. The tears turned to sobs. He clinged to Claude’s jacket, feeling ashamed. What was wrong with him? Why was he falling apart like this? Any moment now, he was sure Claude would yell. Tell him to grow up already— to get over it. He was wasting valuable time he could be making himself useful with.

But there was no such reprimand. Not so much as an exasperated sigh. Claude just held him until he was calm enough to pull away.

“Sorry…” Cyril sniffed, unable to meet the other’s eyes.

“Nothing to be sorry for. That was unfair, you know. What they did.”

Cyril had almost forgotten about the whole incident with the barrels. His mind buzzed with so much more now— way more pain than a prank should warrant. He shrugged. “I’m used to it.”

“That doesn’t make it any better. Makes it worse, actually. You shouldn’t _ever_ be treated like that, Cyril. And the fact that you’re used to something like that… it’s terrible.” Cyril tensed up at that and Claude quickly continued. “Not terrible on your part! I know I haven’t been here long, but I’ve never seen you do anything wrong. Of course, even if you _were_ some kind of prankster, you wouldn’t deserve something like that.”

“It’s… fine. The kids have never liked me here. The monks don’t, either… But it’s fine. I can take care of myself.”

“And I don’t doubt that.” Claude reached up to carefully run a hand through Cyril’s curls. It was almost enough to make him start crying again. “Clearly you can. That’s not the issue. The issue is that you shouldn't _have_ to take care of yourself in the first place. Besides, you live here— you should be safe.”

“Well… ya can’t do anything about it, so don’t worry yourself.”

“Not overnight, that’s for sure.” Claude pursed his lips. “But you know, I _can_ be here for you if nothing else. If something like this happens again, tell me, all right? I _do_ have some authority around here. Those students from before won’t get away with it, I promise you that.”

Cyril was silent for a second. “Why?” was all he could ask.

“Is there a reason not to?”

“Well… you’re a noble. You got no reason to worry ‘bout someone like me. I’m not even a student… so what happens to me doesn’t matter.”

Claude frowned at that, head tilted to the side. “Do you really think that?”

Of course he did. It was true, after all. Him and Claude were from two completely different worlds. Even the commoner students felt like they were leagues above him. Who would waste their time worrying over someone like him? For all his loneliness, he knew he felt that way for a reason. Because if he deserved to be loved the same way everyone else did, then he wouldn’t be a servant. Lady Rhea put him right where he was supposed to be.

Yet there was something in Claude’s expression that made that feel… wrong. For Cyril, it felt like a fact of life, but Claude questioned it so easily. Like it was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard.

Cyril meant to nod or something— anything to indicate he agreed fully with his own words. But he couldn’t. Looking up at the other, something stirred in his chest. Those selfish feelings again. The way Claude looked at him almost gave him hope.

“I… I’m… I’m just a servant. Y’know that, right…?”

“‘Just’ is a strong word, but all right. A servant, sure. That doesn’t mean what happens to you doesn’t matter. You’re breathing, aren’t you? Same as me. I don’t think of you as any different from myself. We both have a right to be here— if anything, you have _more_ right. You work hard to keep this place kicking every day. I’d hate to see the flaming trash heap these grounds would be without you.”

“Well…”

Claude wasn’t going to let up, was he? Cyril didn’t understand. They weren’t the same— anyone could see that.

“In any case, let’s quit standing around,” Claude said. And that was something Cyril could agree with.

* * *

Claude’s words stuck with him. They played through his head all night long, rendering sleep impossible. And by the time morning came, Cyril was exhausted. There was no time to try and rest, though. His daily meeting with Lady Rhea would soon be upon him. Though his eyes were heavy, he forced himself to rise from the library chair he had curled up in. At least Lady Rhea’s chamber wasn’t too far away.

Once he arrived outside the doors, Cyril was compelled to stop. A terrible feeling gnawed at the back of his mind. Shame? Guilt, maybe? Whatever it was, it caused dread to creep through him as he placed his hands on the doors and gave them a push. Standing at the end of the room was Lady Rhea, flashing him a shallow smile as he walked up to her. With every step he took, the dread only grew.

“Cyril,” Lady Rhea greeted. “I heard about what happened yesterday.”

“Oh.” Cyril shifted uncomfortably, gaze falling to the floor. Was she angry…? He felt terrible for causing a scene. “Yeah… I’m fine now.”

“I see.” Lady Rhea raised her hand and Cyril’s heart skipped a beat. He thought for a hopeful second that she was going to reach out to him— to comfort him. But in the same movement, her hand turned over and she simply gestured to the side. “Well then, I’m sure you can tell that the weather is growing colder. If you devote your time to chopping some firewood, it would keep you away from everyone for awhile.”

The disappointment Cyril felt was biting. And he kicked himself for it. It was just as he said— he was fine now. Claude helped him out, it didn’t matter anymore. Besides, she was trying to help him, right? By giving him a chance to stay away from the main grounds. Even if it meant he was going to be in the cold all day.

So he just gave a bow as he always did at the end of their meetings and ignored the terrible feeling in his stomach. Every time he witnessed scenes that brought him overwhelming loneliness, it would be Lady Rhea he thought of. Hoping that maybe one day, she would pat him on the head the way the knights patted their squires, or hug him the way parents hugged their children. He just had to work harder, to prove himself to her. Prove that he was worth something. That he could clean better than anyone else or that he could learn to fight and protect her. To be someone important, someone to keep around. Someone to love.

Claude was wrong. He knew Claude was wrong— clearly, he wasn’t deserving of anything. Lady Rhea knew him better than anyone, didn’t she? So she would know.

Even still, as his stiff fingers tightened around his axe, chopping log after log in the frosty air, Cyril just couldn’t get the day before to fall from his thoughts. It was strange. Someone going out of their way to take care of him like that. Claude even made sure Cyril understood that he expected nothing in return— so what was it all for? He could have easily spent that time doing anything else.

The worst part was how Cyril caught himself looking for Claude now. At the sound of footsteps down a corridor, he would turn his head, heart jumping with the hope the other would be walking towards him. And what for? Did he really think Claude would waste more time on him than he already had?

If nothing else, his whirring thoughts made the day go by. As soon as evening came around, Cyril hurried inside. Exhaustion had turned to fatigue and the cold in his joints certainly didn’t help. There was still plenty of work to do, but he figured he could allow himself a short nap before working through the night. So he made his way up to the library, ready to settle into his usual chair. But a familiar face caught his eye before he could ascend to the upper level.

It was Claude. Seated on the floor, back against the shelves, and surrounded by stacks of books. Cyril’s first thought was that he wanted to go over and greet him. His second was how annoying sorting through all those books was going to be. He elected to ignore the first thought, instead hanging onto the irritation of the second as he grabbed onto the handrail of the staircase. Claude didn’t see him, absorbed in whatever he was reading. It was better off that way.

“Oh— Cyril!” The voice made him flinch. Well, so much for sneaking upstairs. “Haven’t seen you all day. You doing okay?”

He turned. Claude was looking at him with a soft expression. “Yeah… Just been workin’.”

“Not _all_ day, I hope? I swear, you never sleep.”

“Well… I was gonna take a nap.”

“Good— don’t let me stop you. But I doubt your room is up there.”

Cyril frowned, looking away. It wasn’t a secret that he didn’t have a room. Not really. But it wasn’t like he went around telling everyone, either. It just seemed like another fact of life— something that was hardly relevant. But now, standing in front of Claude, it felt… terrible. Like maybe mentioning such a thing would raise concern. He never felt like that before. No one cared. But maybe Claude would. And the last thing Cyril wanted to do was upset him after everything he did for him the day before.

“Er, no…”

“Didn’t think so. Don’t try to sneak more work in while I’m sitting right here.”

Cyril paused, glancing up at the stacks of books Claude was all but buried under. “Mm… Says the one makin’ more work for me.”

Claude laughed. “Oh come now, you really think I won’t put these away myself? Have a little faith in me. They’ll be gone by the time you wake up. So go on, get some rest.”

He took his hand off the handrail, feeling awkward. Where was he supposed to go now? Claude was quick to pick up on the discomfort. When he spoke next, his tone was more serious.

“Hey… You sure you’re doing all right, Cyril? Did something else happen?”

Cyril shook his head. “No… I was just…” He tugged nervously at the hem of his shirt. “Um... I was actually… Can I stay with ya for a bit…?” Regret lined his stomach the moment the words left his mouth. It wasn’t an excuse— it was genuine. No matter how much he didn’t want to admit it, the whole day had been spent hoping he would get to see Claude. But how pitiful did he have to be to ask for attention like that? Especially when Claude was clearly busy. He felt his face heat up from embarrassment and was halfway to running off when Claude answered.

“Of course,” he said. Cyril searched for a hint of irritation in the other’s tone, but found none. Claude pushed some books to the side, patting the space he cleared. “C’mere.”

Cyril hugged himself as though it would keep the guilt from spilling out, then made his way over to Claude. He settled down next to the other, shoulders tense. “You… you sure I’m not botherin’ ya…?” he asked.

“Not at all.” Claude flashed him a smile. He thought about the smile Lady Rhea gave him that morning. They didn’t feel like the same expression— Claude’s was warmer, somehow. Different even from the one he usually wore. “It’s good to have company from time to time, isn’t it? It’s nice having you around.”

Cyril looked up to him, blinking. “It… is?”

“Yeah.” Claude lifted an arm, jerking his head to the side in a beckoning motion. In that moment, Cyril’s guilt melted away. Most of it, at least. Because Claude wanted him to be there. He didn’t know why and he didn’t know if it would last, but for the time being, someone actually wanted him there. So he let himself fall against the other’s side, feeling Claude’s arm wrap around him. “There— now you can’t even _try_ to put these away.”

“Huh…?” Cyril glared upwards as realization hit him. “Hey— no fair!”

Another laugh. “So you admit you would’ve, then?”

“Didn’t say that.”

“Well, either way, you need to take it easy. Care to hear about what I’ve got here?” Claude lifted the book in his lap with his free hand. “I bet it’ll put you right to sleep.”

“Yeah? That a challenge?”

Claude smirked. “Maybe.”

He went along describing the book, then. Something about the history of Faerghus. And Cyril would have listened to every word. There was a part of him that always wished he had a place in the classrooms, after all. But his eyelids were far too heavy from work and a lack of sleep that they were quick to fall. The warmth of Claude beside him made it even harder to stay awake. There was a feeling of comfort in his chest, too— the feeling that he wasn’t alone.

And for the first time in as long as Cyril could remember, sleep found him with ease.


End file.
